


close encounters (of the 3rd floor)

by redsummer



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Time Skip, very slight hurt/comfort toward the end but it's barely even there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29322780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsummer/pseuds/redsummer
Summary: When Osamu accidentally reveals that he and Suna are in a relationship, it comes as a surprise to not just his brother, but to him as well.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 120
Collections: SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	close encounters (of the 3rd floor)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sketchedsmiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchedsmiles/gifts).



> hi carol !! i hope you'll be able to enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it. happy (early) valentine's day <3

When Osamu, at the tender age of 19, had held the keys to his own apartment in his hands, he had thought that this was the opportunity he’s been waiting for all his life.

No longer would he have to spend every waking moment with his brother, playing volleyball like they never stopped sharing the same passion for the sport. He could become his own person. Pursue his dreams without Atsumu by his side. No longer would he have to listen to his teachers drone on about topics he, quite frankly, couldn’t care less about. If he wanted to eat cold leftovers for breakfast, he could.

Now, five years later, the excitement and novelty of living alone have completely and utterly worn off.

Still the cramped mess it was back then, he’s long since come to accept the reality that is his apartment: there will never be enough space for all his belongings, the shower will always be either freezing or scalding with no in-between, and the elevator will forever be broken.

But then again, he can’t complain all _too_ much about his living situation: rent is cheap enough and it’s only a short walk to Onigiri Miya, which proves to be especially helpful in the winter months. The view from the third floor isn’t half-bad either, he has to admit. 

Did he already mention just how tiny his apartment is? Because it is. Especially when his brother is staying over. Which is currently the case.

When Atsumu dropped by unannounced a week ago with two bags in tow, Osamu almost slammed the door in his face, but Atsumu wouldn’t be Atsumu if he hadn’t already gotten his foot in the door by then. _Season break_ , he explained, _and I figured we haven’t seen each other in while. C’mon, just lemme stay over – it’s only two weeks._

That was a week ago and honestly, Osamu is still not entirely unconvinced his brother doesn’t just want free food. He wouldn’t put it past him.

The two are currently sprawled over his couch – one that had not been made with two grown men in mind –, and the late summer heat has seemingly only one goal: to make every person’s life as miserable as it could. If the way his clothes are sticking uncomfortably to his skin is any indication, it’s succeeding.

A nudge in his calf catches Osamu’s attention. When it doesn’t stop, he groans and closes his eyes. “What,'' he grits out, not in the mood to move from his current position and, quite frankly, also not in the mood to be bothered by Atsumu.

“Damn, and I didn’t even do nothin’ yet. A bit touchy, if ya ask me,” Atsumu mutters. If there was one thing even the heat was powerless against, it would be Atsumu’s ability to always be a nuisance. Trust him to never fail in that department.

“What I _wanted_ to ask is who’s that person in your post from last week, like–,” shifting his body to face Osamu, Atsumu holds up his phone with one hand, a portable mini-fan in his other hand. “Y’know, the one with the boyfriend kinda theme.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Osamu realises that _hey – that’s the fan he’s been searching for all week_. For a second, he considers ripping it out of Atsumu’s hand, telling him to get his own like the shameless leech he is – but then he remembers that doing so would require energy, precious energy that he does _not_ have. Maybe another time then.

Boyfriend theme. Huh. 

At first, he’s not even sure what Atsumu could be talking about. There’s nothing that comes to mind when he considers his words, heat-induced haze in his head too strong to fight against. Post from last week. Boyfriend theme. 

Ah, that.

The post his brother is referring to is a photo posted by the official Onigiri Miya account on Wednesday last week. It’s a simple photo, really (some might even call it low budget – and Osamu might just be included in that group). Two people holding hands can be seen, and from the angle the photo was taken in, it’s obvious that the hands are supposed to be the focus of it. The matching bracelets, delicate bands of silver, are just as much of a hint. Less in the focus is the small paper bag with the familiar logo on it, a bouquet half-hidden behind it – all in all, it’s supposed to look exactly like that: a boyfriend theme.

When one of his part-timers, a first-year student at a nearby university, had proposed the idea, it had spurred on a heated discussion in the kitchen.

Originally, Osamu had been against the idea. As the owner, he had felt that it was only right for him to decide which public image to pursue, claiming that Onigiri Miya wouldn’t fit the image this marketing stunt was going to promote. It wasn’t like they _never_ got any couples as customers, but more often than not, those were high schoolers just looking for the cheapest place for a date. Not those looking for some romantic quality time together.

Onigiri Miya is loud, fast-moving, and cramped – that is to say, not a destination couples tended to frequent a lot. Especially during rush hour, the queue could often extend past the open doors, and one would be glad to leave as soon as they got their order. However, at the end of the day, it meant good business so it’s not like Osamu was going to complain about it – and needless to say, Onigiri Miya offered the best damn Onigiri in all of Osaka if he dares say so himself.

In the end, his vote had been powerless against the combined will of everyone else and thus it had been decided it was time for a new marketing approach, simple as that.

Which brings Osamu into his current situation.

“Why? Ya jealous or something ‘cause you’re single?” Propping himself up on one elbow, he shoots Atsumu a teasing grin.

The tongue Atsumu sticks out at him – in a very mature fashion, of course – is enough of an answer.

“Ugh, if I’d known ya were gonna be a smartass ‘bout it, I wouldn’t have asked,” he mutters and rubs his face. “Oh wise Onigiri man, do tell me,” pausing for added effect, Atsumu lets his words linger in the air for a moment. “Who’s the lucky person in the photo? And before ya say anything, I know my own hands. ‘Course I was gonna recognise yours.”

The question baffles Osamu. Okay, yeah, Atsumu is right, he can’t argue with that – it _is_ his hand – but as far as he knows, his brother is affected in a total of zero ways by learning whose hand it is that can be seen.

“Why do ya even care that much? It’s just a damn photo, some new marketing strategy we wanted to try out. ‘S not like I’m datin’ that person or whatever,'' Osamu says and it is at precisely that moment that he knows he’s made a mistake. A very big mistake, in fact. A _huge_ mistake.

“Dating?”

Atsumu visibly perks up at said word and his tone confirms Osamu’s worst fear: he just made a terrible mistake.

And as the seconds pass by with neither of them saying anything, Osamu can see the gears in Atsumu’s empty head working, connecting what he just said to the photo. Part of him wants to say he’s surprised his brother is even able to think about something unrelated to volleyball for once.

“Wait. Okay, wait. I _know_ those hands. That’s gotta be Sunarin. That crooked index finger? Sprained his finger in our last year at Inarizaki and was too stubborn to see a doctor ‘bout it,” Atsumu nods as if mentally patting himself on the shoulder for coming to this conclusion.

So Atsumu might be onto something there. So he might be right in his theory that it happened to be Suna’s hand. So what if Suna had dropped by in Osaka a few weeks ago, claiming to visit some family in the area and wanting to see for himself if Onigiri Miya deserved all the hype it’s been getting.

Osamu had threatened to kick him out on the spot if he even dared to utter another word that was anything but the highest of praise. His teasing tone, however, had given him away. Sliding onto a stool, Suna had asked for the chef’s suggestion – which turned out to be grilled salmon, said chef knowing it was Suna’s favorite flavour – and had been smitten with the food one bite in.

One Onigiri had led to another Onigiri and before they had known it, it had been time for Osamu’s break. As he sat on the stool next to Suna with his cap on the counter, Osamu could only think about how much he'd missed this – old jokes still made them laugh as much as in high school, except now, a lot more catching up on each other’s lives took place. When he had jokingly asked Suna if he wanted to play model for a quick photoshoot, Osamu had fully expected him to say no. What he hadn’t been expecting was for Suna to go along with it. _I mean, how bad can it be? Just a quick photo, that’s all, isn’t it?_

(Only after he had left did Osamu realise that Suna had no family in the area, remembering that all his relatives lived miles away in Tokyo.)

In the quiet of his apartment, the low _brrrr_ of the air-conditioner is the only sound to fill the room. He really should get it replaced one of these days, he thinks. Only a matter of time until the thing stops working completely and he already dreads a summer without it.

The near-silence doesn’t last long, however, as Atsumu sees it fit to grab onto Osamu’s shoulder at that moment, the momentum of his arm accidentally knocking over a bunch of books stacked on the low coffee table. The books land on the carpet with a dull _thud_ , but Osamu finds it in him that he doesn’t care enough to complain about it.

Atsumu looks him in the eyes, the grip on his shoulder tightening until it almost borders on being painful. Osamu watches him take a deep breath and he’s fully prepared for the question that must surely be on Atsumu’s mind, except it doesn’t come – not even when he closes and opens his mouth two more times. Feeling himself grow more impatient as this keeps dragging on and on, he gives Atsumu a pointed look. For someone who’s always had such a big mouth, what’s the problem now? Surely this should be easy?

He gets his answer in the form of Atsumu mumbling something – something Osamu is unable to understand for the life of him – while looking everywhere but at him.

“What.” Blunt and straight to the point.

And in an agonisingly slow manner, Atsumu forces his eyes away from the now surely interesting clock above his tv and looks at him again. “I said,” he repeats, carefully choosing his next words, “are you and Suna like… datin’? ‘Cause, ya know, ya said datin’ and I know ya two haven’t really been keepin’ in contact ever since we graduated but I was wondering why ya chose _him_ of all people to be in that photo and y’know, what’s the matter with ya two and–”

“I say this lovingly, but ‘Tsumu, ya need to shut up. Your face is all red now,” Osamu interrupts him, deciding to take pity on his brother before he faints from a lack of oxygen.

“Well, but are ya, ‘Samu? Are you dating Suna?” 

And in a moment of absolute stupidity, Osamu makes what might just be the worst mistake he’s ever made in his twenty-four years on this earth. No sooner does the word pass his lips than he knows it will follow him for the rest of his life from this moment on.

“Yes.”

…

…

.... Eh?

He blinks. Once. Twice. His mouth feels dry all of sudden.

Atsumu is seemingly in as much of a shock as he is judging from his lack of a reaction, too stunned to open his mouth for once, as rare as that is. The ticking of the clock might as well be the only reminder that time hasn’t stopped.

If Osamu wasn’t still trying to wrap his head around what he just said, he wouldn’t even hesitate to poke fun at his brother – but even he doesn’t know what just came over him to say that. Just to make sure this isn’t a dream, he pinches himself in the forearm and waits but nothing happens. Not a dream in that case then. Fuck.

And as he stares up at the ceiling, Osamu can ask himself only one question: _why did I just say that._

  


* * *

  


He needs to let Suna know.

He’s aware of this, painfully aware in fact. The thought has been on Osamu’s mind for hours already, gnawing at him and leaving him restless. It’s not like he doesn’t want to do it (well, kind of but not really). If he _could_ just tell Suna that they’re apparently in a romantic relationship now, he _would_ – but alas, how do you tell the guy you’ve known since your first year of high school precisely that? 

_Hey, guess what, we’re dating now? I hope you’re fine with that? Honestly, I didn’t really see this one coming either but well, guess life felt like throwing a curveball at us?_

He grimaces. Maybe not like that. Honestly, if Suna never wanted to see his face again after this whole whatever-the-hell-is-going-on situation, Osamu wouldn’t even blame him. 

Knowing Atsumu, Osamu wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already told Suna by now. Though knowing Suna, the possibility of him having blocked Atsumu’s number is just as high – it occasionally happened after all. 

Joining rival teams after graduation has led to a bit of a friendly rivalry between the two, no match between MSBY Black Jackals and EJP Raijin taking place without confident smirks thrown across the net and taunts meant to rile the other up. Being unofficially associated with MSBY, Osamu always tried to make it to as many matches as he could – oftentimes, he could then be spotted shaking his head at their antics as he prepared the next round of Onigiri for the break.

However, going by the fact that Suna hasn’t contacted him all day, Osamu can (almost) certainly rule out the possibility of Atsumu already having broken the news; otherwise, he’d probably be looking at a string of text messages ranging from disbelieving to annoyed to angry at this moment.

So what this means is that he’ll still have to tell Suna. Great.

The phone in his hand feels heavy. Suna’s number has been glaring at him since Atsumu went to take a shower twenty minutes ago and the eleven digits are _definitely_ mocking him. Part of him is almost tempted to leave Suna in the dark, but his pride prevents him from doing so.

A groan escapes his lips. It should be so easy, pressing the green call button and getting it over with, but hesitation always seems to creep up on him at the last second. On a scale of one to ten with one being the least likely to happen and ten the most likely to, Suna hanging up without a word and blocking his number would be a one while him going along with the whole pretending-to-date-thing would be a ten. That is to say: undoubtedly the most unrealistic outcome.

Judging by the faint sound of the shower being turned off, Osamu guesses he doesn’t have much time left anymore until Atsumu returns. For fuck’s sake, he’s been in more embarrassing situations before, his dignity and pride having suffered worse blows. It’s just a stupid phone call. It’s not like Suna is some stranger either – so by all means, it _should_ be easy. It really should be.

_If you don’t do this now, who knows what will happen when ‘Tsumu tells him later_ – and okay, yeah, that is _definitely_ something Osamu could live without. Figuring that now is the last chance to get it over with if he wants to preserve any of his dignity, he presses the call button before he can decide against it again and prays for the best.

It takes eight rings until Suna picks up.

“Osamu? Ah, sorry, wasn’t expecting a call. What’s up?” Suna’s voice greets him. He sounds raspy like he’s just woken up, Osamu notes.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Yeah. Suna. Hey. I, uh, have somethin’ to tell ya?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounds shaky, noticeably trailing off toward the end, and he involuntarily cringes. Great, just great – now Suna’s gonna think he wants to talk about something serious.

“Wait, that sounded wrong. Let me try again,” he sighs – and oh, how he wishes this conversation would be over already –, “funny story but I might have told ‘Tsumu that we’re dating and I really need ya to play along and please don’t kill me and I’m sorry and–” By the end, he’s nearly fumbling over his words, voice steadily rising higher and higher. Again, why did he ever think telling Suna was going to be a good idea?

“Wait, wait. You did _what_?”

Suna doesn’t sound angry, Osamu thinks, breathing a sigh of relief. He mostly just sounds incredulous – but the fact that he hasn’t hung on him yet is probably a good sign. At least he hopes so.

Trying to think of what the best approach to this conversation is if he doesn’t want Suna to ghost him forever, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “It’s kinda a long story, y’know? But basically, ‘Tsumu’s currently staying over at my place and we were talkin’ about the newest post I posted on the shop’s Instagram a few days ago. The one we did as a joke together? When ya came over to Osaka all those weeks ago? Well, ‘Tsumu happened to recognise your hand and ah, the rest is history?” 

When there’s nothing but silence coming from Suna’s end of the line, Osamu supposes that what he just revealed was probably too much at once. At least he tried his best.

“Y’know, it’s not so bad, I’d say? We don’t even need to do much, just some messages here and there and maybe facetime from time to time. We could always blame it on being too busy to meet up?” Fully aware he’s grasping at straws by now, he’s further surprised by the fact Suna is still there.

“Like if ‘Tsumu gets suspicious we could always blame it on ya being busy with the season. I know EJP’s been having a great run so it wouldn’t even be too far off,” he rambles, just so that someone is saying _anything_. “And as for me, ah, I can always just blame it on my shop. Stuff gets busy ‘round this time of the year. Besides, we’ve been thinking of expanding. Primarily to Tokyo – guess you just became the first person I’m telling this.” Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, he forces out a shaky laugh.

He’s done his part – everything depends on Suna now.

“Wow. I always knew you were stupid but I never would have thought you’re _this_ stupid,” is what Suna eventually says after twelve seconds pass (not that Osamu was counting in his head), and Osamu doesn’t need to be there with him to know that his face is as unimpressed as his voice suggests. “Colour me surprised, Miya Osamu,” he drawls sarcastically.

“Seriously? Telling your brother we’re _dating_? You really couldn’t have thought of anything better? Ugh, you and your brother are _completely_ insufferable,” he continues, annoyance dripping from his words. Part of Osamu is _almost_ inclined to agree with him on that one; he can only imagine how his request must sound like. 

“Funny you say that ‘cause I was thinking the same thing at that moment,'' Osamu tells him, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I really must sound ridiculous, huh? Asking you to be my pretend boyfriend out of nowhere. Honestly, I’d rather listen to Atsumu whine about anything and everything the whole day than have this call right now.”

It seems his words have the desired effect judging from Suna’s laugh that follows. “You’re hopeless. Utterly hopeless,” Suna snorts, but there’s no maliciousness in his words. By now, Osamu’s known him long enough to pick up on his little cues.

Hopeless, huh – well, Suna might just be onto something there. 

Leaning onto the kitchen counter, Osamu eyes the dirty plates lying in the sink with a look of disdain – suddenly, he’s reminded of all the reasons he hates living with his brother. He’s not sure if he actually wants to know what Atsumu’s apartment looks like. Probably for the best if it stays that way.

“So, what d’ya think? I know, I know, I should’ve taken you out to dinner first and it’s all moving a little too fast but at least give a guy a chance,” he jokes when Suna doesn’t say anything for a while, silence soon becoming uncomfortable. (Or maybe he says it to calm the beating in his chest – who knows.)

“If, and only if,” Suna says then, speaking slowly and seemingly considering his every word, “I were to say we’re dating? What’s in it for me, Miya? And don’t you dare say some crap like _my undying love and trust_ or I’m hanging up and never acknowledging your existence again.” An empty threat and they both know it, made apparent by the lack of any real bite.

“Free food? Prepared with love? And I’d do it every day?” Osamu offers sheepishly, knowing there’s absolutely nothing of value in the entire ordeal for Suna.

But against all odds in the world, Suna agrees.

Not entirely unconvinced his ears didn’t just play a cruel joke on him, Osamu freezes. Did he hear that right? Maybe the heat finally got to him. Or maybe his brain just made that up and Suna didn’t say anything yet. “You- You agree? Like, ya know what you’re getting into here, right?” he splutters elegantly once his mouth starts working again which, admittedly, took an embarrassingly long amount of time. 

After preparing for every outcome in which he got shot down, Osamu realises that he never actually considered the possibility of Suna _agreeing_. He doesn’t know whether to cry or to laugh. Maybe both.

“Yeah, and that’s why I said yes, dumbass,” Suna tells him and Osamu doesn’t need to be halfway across the country to know that he’s rolling his eyes at that moment. “Did your brain finally stop working? Kinda surprised it took you this long,” he continues when it becomes clear Osamu is still not done processing his previous answer.

With his brain still working in overdrive, Osamu doesn’t trust himself enough to say anything, knowing he’d just blurt out all his thoughts. He’d probably manage to get himself into another unfavourable situation, after having just narrowly escaped one.

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “You know, I feel like it would be best if you just text me all the details later. I doubt there’s gonna be much more coming from your side in the next few minutes. Just– Just don’t fuck this up, okay?” Suna says, and Osamu almost scoffs – as if he would go out of his way to do exactly that. After experiencing every emotion known to mankind in five minutes, he’s had his fair share of whatever the hell is going on, thank you very much. As if he would go out of his way to fuck this up.

In a much more serious tone than just seconds ago, Suna continues: “I’ve never pretended to date someone before – which I’m guessing also holds for you – so we need to set up some rules first. Preferably when your brain starts working again. Honestly, why do I have to take care of all the details when _you’re_ the one who asked me,” he mutters, annoyed at Osamu’s incompetence.

Osamu makes a sound that hopefully sounds like he’s agreeing. He’s not sure it worked.

“Just… text me later. We can go over everything then,” Suna sighs, and for a moment, Osamu lets himself believe that it’s over – how naive, he will think in hindsight, to believe Suna would just leave it at. 

Well, it seems like his now-boyfriend has other plans. “Love you, _babe_ ,” is the last thing Suna says before he hangs up, swiftly delivering the finishing blow with a breathy laugh. 

If Osamu had thought that Suna agreeing to put on the act of being his boyfriend was already all it had needed to shut his brain down, he now knows better: it is _nothing_ compared to Suna calling him babe. Even if Suna said it as a joke only, there was something else in his voice Osamu couldn’t quite place. Amusement, yes, but that had certainly not been all to it. He frowns.

If a simple pet name already managed to have this effect on him, he could only worry about what’s to come in the future – namely, keeping up the act of being in a very real and very romantic relationship in front of Atsumu (and everyone else for that matter, too).

And the worst part of it all: he has no one to blame for getting into this mess but himself.

  


* * *

  


Pretending to be in a relationship is a process of never-ending trial and error, but eventually, they learn what works for them (and in the same vein, the opposite: everything that does _not_ work).

In a way it’s... easier than Osamu expected it to be. Good morning texts were the first to become part of their daily routine, and after that, it was only a matter of time until video calls over lunch followed next. None of it requires much effort on their ends; instead, it’s simply reminiscent of their friendship in high school.

Perhaps, he would almost go as far as calling it _natural_ – when a notification brings the hint of a smile to his face as he brings a cup of coffee in the morning to his lips (he’s taken a liken to a blend Suna had offhandedly recommended a few weeks ago), or when his first reaction when ranting about exhausting days at work is to no longer turn to Atsumu, but to seek out Suna instead.

The physical distance between them certainly helps with everything, of course – it’s far easier to keep the act up in front of everyone when no one is witness to it happening. And personally, Osamu prefers it that way. Long distance he can do, but anything more than that? Now that’s a story for another day.

Naturally, people have begun to ask questions as well and Osamu can’t say he blames them. High school sweethearts – their shared friend circle has started calling them. ( _Congratulations_ , Kita said to them with a knowing glint in his eyes after they had told him at a get-together before summer ended, glow of the fireflies reflecting on his face – to this day, Osamu still doesn’t know whether the warmth in his face had been due to the beer in his hand or his old captain’s comment.)

The story he and Suna decide on is convincing enough: even though they had been close friends in high school, the paths their dreams led them down had still been too different – so it was no surprise when they drifted apart. But in the end, all they had needed was a spontaneous trip from Suna to Osaka and, well, the rest is history, as everyone knows.

In short, it does the job and gets people off their backs – and that is something Osamu is grateful for.

(When Osamu had nonchalantly told his brother the story on an otherwise uneventful day, a violent coughing fit had overcome Atsumu who had then proceeded to nearly choke on his saliva. _Dude, ya can’t just say that like it’s the weather while you’re– you’re what? Washing the dishes?_

Grabbing the nearest towel hanging by the counter to dry his hands, Osamu had given him a flat stare over his shoulder. _Wasn’t aware there’s a law for that. Besides, were ya really_ that _blind to think we were skipping club practice in high school to do homework of all things?_ )

Lost in his thoughts, Osamu doesn’t notice one of his part-timers poking her head into the kitchen until a loud ‘there’s a package for you, boss!’ snaps him back into reality. He startles, almost knocking over the tray balancing on the edge of the counter. Frowning, he looks at the source of the interruption, his unsaid question in the air.

“Ah, I’m really sorry, didn’t mean to, it’s just–”, she explains, stopping for a second to clear her throat, “there’s a package and it’s for you? Which is kinda weird considering, y’know, it’s for the shop and not your address? And there’s no sender?”

Osamu blinks. Huh. That’s new.

Thanking her for informing him, he washes his hands and makes his way to the front of the shop where – just as she said – a small parcel lies on the counter, plain brown and unassuming. As expected, the label reveals nothing: it just says **guess who** written in dark sharpie next to the stamp.

Grabbing the nearest knife, he cuts the packaging open in one swift motion and tears it open – his eyes then immediately fall onto a neatly folded jersey, unmistakable yellow standing out against the white. Ah. So that’s what this is all about.

Taking out the jersey and holding it into the light from the lamp, Osamu snorts, instantly recognising the familiar number on the back. If the number hadn’t already given it away, the name printed above it would certainly have. 

From the corner of his eye, he spots a little note stuck to the bottom of the box and takes it out.

_Thought you would like one._

_You can wear it at our next match – Suna_

_PS: Think about how much it’ll piss off your brother_

Despite the sheer ridiculousness of it – because really, Suna couldn’t have sent this to his apartment instead? – a fond smile still sneaks its way onto his face. _At your next match, huh._

If his memory serves him right, EJP’s next match is against the DESEO Hornets in two weeks – a crucial match, Suna might have told him before, he remembers somewhere at the back of his mind. Osamu was generally only able to plan with Atsumu’s matches in mind, the logistics and costs of attending more matches than that making his head spin, but in this case.... maybe he could squeeze in just _one_ more match for once. In any case, he’s been wanting to try out a new menu but until now, he hasn’t had the chance to gauge the customers’ reaction properly... perhaps he’ll have to think about it – an exception once a while would hurt no one.

(When Atsumu notices him wearing said jersey during a video call four days later, he snickers, asking if it’s a present his _boyfriend_ got him – or even better, if Suna forgot it at his place and Osamu is now wearing it because he already misses his boyfriend.

Osamu only flicks him off in response – no need to acknowledge how his chest feels tighter all of sudden, right?)

  


* * *

  


Two weeks later, and the DESEO Hornets are leading by a set.

Watching from where he’s set up his stall, Osamu is thankful for the lack of customers in sight, allowing him to take a quick breather and to focus on the match. While opening his restaurant right out of high school had always been a dream of his, it could get _very_ exhausting at times.

To his own surprise, he’s wearing the jersey Suna sent him two weeks ago. Under the bright lights of the stadium, the **SUNA** printed in bold letters across his back feels like it’s burning – as if everyone’s eyes were drawn to him instead of the court. He almost wants to say it feels like every person in his vicinity could tell from merely one look at him just what exactly the… unique relationship between him and Suna exactly entails, but then he remembers just how ridiculous that sounds.

Ah, well, as long as no one has found out the truth so far, he doubts that will change any time soon.

Just as his hand reaches for the knife by his side, he hears more than sees it: the dull sound of a body hitting the ground, followed by a shocked gasp resonating through the packed stadium.

Looking up, his eyes immediately fly to the court, trying to catch a glimpse of what happened, the now-discarded knife clattering on the table. 

He was never prepared for it to be Suna, he realises then as his eyes widen.

Lying on the ground, he sees Suna clutching his left leg, pain written all over his face. From this distance, especially with so many of Suna’s teammates blocking his view, Osamu is unable to make out anything more than that but he doesn’t need to. Doesn’t want to, if he’s being honest.

For the longest second, it’s silent, everyone’s eyes focused on Suna – the next, it’s as if a dam broke. 

Itching to get up and run over to where Suna is lying on the ground ( _your boyfriend_ , his traitorous mind feels the need to whisper at that moment), Osamu can only watch as Suna’s coach switches him out, unable to do anything to help him. One of his teammates helps him get up and they slowly head for the bench, Suna’s face clearly showing the pain he’s miserably failing to hide.

Osamu’s brows furrow in worry as his gaze follows Suna’s retreating back who says something to his coach at that moment before his figure disappears in a hallway. Knowing there’s nothing he could do to alleviate Suna’s pain until the match is over, he tries to focus on what’s in front of him, one hand reaching for some rice. However, it’s like his hands have unlearned everything he’s learned in the past years; a routine so ingrained he could normally perform it in his sleep, now foreign as clumps of rice keep falling on the table. Cursing under his breath, he tries again. And again.

When all his attempts keep failing, the image of Suna clutching his injured leg still fresh in his mind, Osamu is forced to acknowledge that there’s no point in trying anymore. One look at his pitiful attempts confirms it: there’s no way he could even attempt to sell these pathetic excuses of what an Onigiri is supposed to be.

Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, Osamu spots one of his part-timers and gestures her over. Telling her to call him if anything goes wrong or in case of an emergency, he assures her that he’s confident she’ll do just fine – he even gives her what is supposed to be a reassuring smile, but they both know it’s a rather sad attempt.

Almost ripping off his apron with their official logo printed on it, he throws it onto the counter before he grabs his wallet and phone from the back of the stall and rushes in the direction of the hallway Suna disappeared into.

He skillfully avoids colliding with everyone in his path, carefully maneuvering around them as he hurriedly jogs toward the hallway on the other side of the stadium. Only when there’s no one left in his path, Osamu dares to take a peek at his phone – and proceeds to almost trip over his feet. There’s a message from Suna at the top, sent sixteen minutes ago. _Going to the hospital_ , it says. Another one, twelve minutes ago. _Need a checkup._

His face falls. He’d hoped his intuition was wrong, that it was just an insignificant accident, but judging from the look of things, this was looking less and less likely to be the case.

  


* * *

  


What was supposed to be a short drive to the hospital feels like it takes ages – _twenty minutes_ , Osamu mentally scoffs, _yeah – never with this much traffic._ With every red light, he can feel himself grow more on edge, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as his eyes dart between the road in front of him and the rear-view mirror. _Turn right in 300 meters_ , the monotonous voice of Google Maps informs him then.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he realises he hasn’t been this worried about an injury in a long time. Not even when he himself had had a minor mishap in the kitchen involving a sharp knife (or major, depending on who was asked), the cut ultimately requiring stitches in the end. The remaining scar has since then become a lesson to handle sharp utensils with the utmost care – he grimaces thinking about what else could have happened.

But now, with Suna, it’s… different. Seeing him in a state of vulnerability, betraying his usual impassive demeanor – it all felt wrong. That’s the only way Osamu can explain it. He never wants to see Suna like this again.

Two intersections later, and the hospital finally comes into sight. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before he finds a free spot in the relatively empty parking lot. After locking his car, he runs to the front door where the receptionist, a woman in her mid-forties, greets him with a friendly smile on her face. With his chest heaving, he explains the situation to her, trying his hardest to not stumble over his words. As soon as she’s given him the direction to the visitors’ waiting room, he’s off again, throwing a grateful _thank you_ over his shoulder.

So this is how Osamu finds himself in the thankfully empty visitors’ waiting room. It’s silent, as expected of a hospital; everything too bright and too impersonal. Even the nurses scurrying in the hallway don’t spare him a second glance. 

Aware there’s nothing he could do to help Suna at this moment, he forces himself to sit in a chair, biting his lip so hard he’s shocked he hasn’t drawn blood yet. Seconds pass, which turn into minutes, and soon, Osamu isn’t sure anymore how long he’s been waiting already. 

“Hey,” a male voice interrupts him then, startling him out of his thoughts as something hard pokes him in the leg. 

“Wha–,” he blurts out before his brain even has the chance to catch up to his mouth. Looking up, his mouth forms a perfect o-shape when the person in front of him fully registers in his mind: Suna, with his left leg wrapped in a thick red bandage and leaning forward on a pair of crutches.

Osamu practically jumps up, his vision going black for a second as the edges of his sight blur, needing to steady himself with one hand on the chair behind him. Once his vision has returned, he immediately envelops Suna in his arms. “Dumbass, I was so worried,” he mumbles into the crook of Suna’s neck, closing his eyes as he catches a whiff of the familiar scent and holds onto this moment.

Suna freezes in his arms. “You know you don’t have to keep up the whole dating thing when we’re alone, right? No one here knows us. You don’t have to force yourself,” Suna says gently, but there’s a certain wistfulness to his words. “We’re alone. It’s fine if you just came here as a friend.” 

Osamu only hugs him tighter in response. “Shut up, doesn’t matter to me. Or at least now right now ‘cause,” and he fixes Suna with a stare, “you, Suna Rintarou, deserve a speedy recovery and everyone in this building deserves to know it. And if that recovery just includes your boyfriend doting on you, then hell, I’ll do it.”

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_? That’s all, Sunarin? I drive all the way here and all I get is an _oh_?” Placing a hand on his chest, Osamu fakes an exaggerated gasp. “Even ‘Tsumu wouldn’t hurt me like this–,” he skillfully dodges the flick aimed for his forehead and fails to hide his bubbling laugh, a foreign sound in the impersonal waiting room. “Okay, okay, enough joking. I’m just glad you’re fine. Your fall must have been real nasty, from what it looked like. T’was kinda scary, seeing ya on the ground like that, not moving for a second.” Scary was a slight understatement – during the entire drive to the hospital the scene kept replaying in his head, reminding Osamu of how powerless he had been.

And Suna looks genuinely taken aback by what he just said, evident by the way his mouth is slightly parted with no words coming out. His very inviting mouth, tongue running over his lips at that moment and... nope, not going there. Not thinking about that today, Osamu reprimands himself and shoves those thoughts back into the deepest part of his mind.

“It… wasn’t that bad, actually. One moment I jumped up and the next, ah, I guess you know what happened. I must’ve collided with one of my ‘mates,” Suna awkwardly chuckles, but Osamu can tell he’s making light of the situation. “But I guess it could’ve always been a lot worse, I got lucky and only sprained my ankle,” he says and lifts one of his crutches, swinging it in the air for a second to emphasize his words. 

“It’s only a moderate sprain, but the doctor recommended at least a month off to recover. And it’s fine, y’know, I’ve– I’ve been wanting to catch up on some other hobbies, and I guess I could really use a break from all the matches with how exhausting the season’s been getting.” With a shrug, Suna leans forward on his crutches, forcing a weak smile to appear on his lips, but there’s a kind of barely kept in frustration simmering behind his eyes.

Osamu knows a lie when he sees one. 

It seems like Suna knows so too.

“I– Fuck,” Suna says, biting his lip in frustration. When he looks up, there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, something he hasn’t allowed Osamu to see before in all the years of knowing each other. Taking a deep breath, he looks Osamu in the eyes. “I won’t be able to play for at least a month,” he whispers then, admitting a kind of silent defeat.

Oh. So that’s what this is about. Osamu can’t say he _exactly_ gets it – while he enjoyed playing in high school, he’s never had the same passion for volleyball the way Atsumu or Suna had, the kind of ambition that is never satisfied and is always demanding more. But then he compares it to his restaurant and cooking and – ah. Perhaps he understands now.

Gently taking Suna’s hand into his, he rubs his knuckles in a circular motion, careful to not exert too much pressure. “Doesn’t matter, your health is more important than anything else. It’s only one month, and then you’ll be back again.” And it’s true: what is one month in the grand scheme of things?

“Besides, dont’cha think it would be kinda embarrassing for your team if they can’t even win a game without one of their starting middle blockers?” Osamu gives him a teasing grin to lighten the downcast mood.

Suna’s laugh that follows might possibly be the most beautiful sound he’s heard all week. 

And as they stand in the middle of the waiting room, unbothered by the rest of the world moving around them, Osamu has a realisation. That maybe, just maybe, he would like for them to stay like this – and that maybe, he would like to be the reason for Suna to shine like he stole the sun.

_Oh._

“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” Suna says softly once he calmed down, cheeks tinted pink from laughing so much. With the glow of the setting sun falling in through the windows, it almost looks like he has specks of gold dancing in his hair. 

Taking a deep breath, Osamu decides then that it is now or never.

“Suna, I have something I need to tell ya. Nothing serious, of course,” he quickly adds, remembering the disaster that had been the fateful phone call on a summer day all those months ago. “I think– I think I’d like to take this whole thing we have going on a step further. ‘Cause, y’know, lately I’ve been a lot happier with you by my side and when I saw you lying on the court I realised how much I never want to see you like that again.”

“So I’m asking if you’d like to be my… real boyfriend? Like no more pretending this time?” he asks, his heart feeling like it might burst from his chest.

This time, Suna doesn’t need to think twice before he knows his answer – the moment their eyes meet, Osamu is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of warmth and love in them.

“And here I was wondering how much longer it would take you to properly ask me out,” Suna replies, the teasing glint in his eyes shining bright. “Of course I want to, you big idiot. Of course.” He laughs, locking their hands together, and tucks his face against Osamu’s shoulder, breath tickling his skin. 

And Osamu laughs with him, leaning down to tenderly plant a kiss on his forehead. 

Face tucked against his shoulder, Suna mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _let me stay over at your place_. 

Osamu doesn’t think he even has it in him to say no – from this angle, he’s glad Suna isn’t able to see his grin. To think they went from only pretending to date each other to actually dating each other – and to think that all of it is the fault of one Miya Atsumu. Osamu makes a mental reminder to never let him know about any of this, knowing it would just go to his head and inflate his ego even further.

A poke in his chest draws his attention downwards. “You’re wearing it?” Suna asks, referring to his jersey.

“Of course – I gotta show the world who my _amazing_ and _talented_ boyfriend is.”

And before Suna can even attempt to hit him with one of his crutches for this comment, Osamu grabs his chance and leans in.

  


* * *

  


“So. What do we do now?” Suna asks, standing in front of the (still) broken elevator. He knows Osamu’s apartment is on the third floor and he doubts he could walk that far.

“Want me to carry you?” 

Suna gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m literally taller than you.”

But little does he know Osamu hasn’t been carrying all those rice bags for nothing over the years.

  



End file.
